


Under the Mistletoe

by thegrayness



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Holidays, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrayness/pseuds/thegrayness
Summary: David has to attend a holiday party that an ex will also be attending, to save face, of course. Patrick volunteers to go with him before he can really think about what it means.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 35
Kudos: 248
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	Under the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



> Prompter, I hope you enjoy!

Patrick was skeptical about the soft launch from the start. From something about GOOP to the too-steep-in-his-opinion discount they’re giving to customers, Patrick’s only really been half on board. He was mostly convinced by David’s face when he talked about the benefits of doing a soft launch, the way his eyes sparkled when he described the way he imagined their patrons would fawn over their wares. Or just the way his voice gets when he talks about Rose Apothecary in any capacity. 

Anyway, Patrick’s skeptical. But when the doors open, and the crowd comes in, and David slips into this… _expert_ role, walking around charming their customers, Patrick’s done for. 

He spends much of the evening distracted by David—he probably gave away too many complimentary mints, dropping handfuls in customers’ bags as he watches David across the room. David looks over at him, every now and then, and gives him a smile that threatens to knock him out. 

He turns back to Roland, who is holding almost their entire stock of Mr. Hockley’s tea in his arms, and tries to focus on the task at hand. Jocelyn is next to him, with several boxes of tea as well, and Patrick wonders if they should even be selling it at all, given the news David gave him earlier about the legitimacy of the… “tea.” 

Jocelyn is touching a lot of the product they have near the cash, and it doesn’t look like she has any intention of buying any, so Patrick hustles them through the transaction. He has a feeling David won’t appreciate them shuffling up his very precise product layout. 

The time they allotted for the launch is almost up, just over thirty minutes left, and luckily their friends and family (and _their_ friends and family) are beginning to trickle out, filling up their plastic cups with the last of the champagne and trotting out into the evening. David is chatting with an older woman, pointing out several bottles of skincare, picking up a sample moisturizer and pumping some into her upturned palm. 

Patrick smiles to himself. He can’t hear what David is saying, but he imagines David is offering compliments on top of charming compliments, sweet-talking the woman into a big sale. 

The bell over the door chimes as another customer walks in—an attractive guy dressed like David dresses, in what Patrick assumes are expensive designer clothes. Patrick averts his gaze to avoid staring, and David ushers his customer over to the cash with several products in her basket. 

“Mrs. Madely, this is my business partner, Patrick and he’ll take care of you, okay. Lovely to meet you.”

Patrick smiles at David and then at Mrs. Madely, and focuses on ringing up her items. He sees David walk up to the other customer, but he’s decidedly _not_ using his usual charming salesperson persona. Patrick finishes up, speeding up a bit as he watches David’s mild expression grow more and more forced. Patrick can’t hear what they’re saying—they’re speaking in hushed tones and the music in the store is loud now that their patrons have cleared out. 

He says goodbye to Mrs. Madely and walks her out, flipping the sign. He wants to go to David—to do what, he doesn’t know. Touch his shoulder comfortingly. Put some space between David and whoever that guy is. 

Before he can make the decision, David grabs a candle off one of the shelves and walks the man to the front of the store. Patrick hurries back behind the counter. 

David puts the candle on the counter with a little more force than Patrick expects considering how lovingly he handles all their products. “Hi, Patrick, Dex is going to buy this candle, because he came in here to shop and definitely not to harass me even though we haven’t spoken in well over a year.”

Patrick blinks. “... Great. Appreciate your support, Dex.” _What kind of name is Dex?_

“He’ll be paying full price for that.” David leans his hip against the counter and folds his arms across his chest. 

Patrick glances at Dex, who is just smirking at David even though it’s pretty clear to Patrick that David wants nothing to do with him. He rings up the candle, and also a container of mints because it seems like the right thing to do. When Patrick looks up at David, he sees David’s lips lift up into a small smirk.

He takes Dex’s credit card and makes quick work of the transaction, handing back the card and his receipt. He nudges the candle a few inches towards Dex, deciding against giving him a canvas bag, or anything else to make his life easier. 

Dex just chuckles annoyingly and picks up his purchase. “Nice seeing you David,” Dex says, and he sounds so smarmy that Patrick feels the urge to shove him towards the door. “Oh hey,” Dex continues, as if he’s just thought of something, even though Patrick is pretty sure he’s just been waiting for the perfect time. He seems the type. “You should come to my holiday party in a few weeks. You can bring someone of course—unless you’re still single?”

Patrick nearly scoffs at the blatant putdown, but David doesn’t show _any_ reaction. 

“Mmhmm, the door’s behind you.” David points at the door. “Thanks for coming.” 

“I’ll text you.” Dex walks backwards towards the door.

“Or don’t,” David says. 

Dex winks and turns to head out onto the street. David strides over to the door to twist the lock into place and Patrick watches as he sighs heavily and leans back against the door. 

“Uh—” Patrick doesn’t know what to say, wants to avoid blurting out anything embarrassing even though he desperately wants to comfort David who is obviously upset. 

“Any chance we can pretend none of that ever happened?”

Patrick wants to ask David a million questions about _everything_ that just happened, but David looks distressed and disappointed and Patrick really just wants to put a smile back on his face. So he nods and steps around the counter. 

David nods back and takes a deep breath. “Well this was a success,” he says softly, and Patrick keeps nodding. 

“I would say so, yeah. Although you know we’d be 25 percent richer if we’d just done a hard launch but, hey, I’m just the numbers guy.” He shrugs. 

The prologue of a smirk plays across David’s lips. “Mmhmm, but had we not done the _soft_ launch, we wouldn’t have _lured_ all those people,” he says, gesturing with both hands. 

“Mm, well you know the best thing is we never have to talk about it again because we are officially open.” Patrick holds his arms open—why is he doing that? Is he going to _hug_ David?

“That is true,” David says, collapsing his hands and looking around. Patrick puts his arms down immediately, but then David looks back at him, a tiny smile on his face, and Patrick just goes for it. 

“Congratulations, man,” Patrick says. _Man?_ He opens his arms again and David steps forward as well. David says something, but Patrick can’t hear it over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, and when he wraps his arms around David, he feels like his heart might beat right out of his chest. He closes his eyes and tries not to focus _too_ hard on the feeling of David’s big hands pressed against his back, so warm through the thin fabric of his button-up. 

The hug lasts longer than probably any hug Patrick has ever had, and he’s both relieved and disappointed when the lights flicker. He doesn’t know what David’s thinking—David never reveals anything unless he wants to—so Patrick can’t tell if David liked the long hug or was on the verge of being weirded out. The lights flickering was really for the best. 

Patrick stares up at the lighting fixtures, debating whether or not to attempt a repair or just to call the electrician that David was supposed to call. 

David’s phone vibrates behind the counter, and David goes to pick it up while Patrick continues to stare up at the lights, mostly distracting himself from all the feelings of _oh my god I hugged David Rose._

“Fuck,” David says softly, dropping his phone back onto the counter. 

Patrick’s attention is back on David immediately. “What’s up?”

David leans his elbows on the counter. “It’s nothing,” he says, very unconvincingly. 

“Okay,” Patrick says, intending to let it go. David heaves a huge sigh and rests his chin in his hands. Patrick doesn’t say anything in response because it seems like David has more to say—or sigh—and sure enough, he sighs deeply again. Okay. _That’s_ easy to read, at least. 

“I don’t want to… pry,” Patrick starts, “but it seems like something _is_ bothering you.”

David groans and stands up straight, tugging on the bottom of his sweatshirt and adjusting the sleeves before settling his hands on his hips. He bites his lip, distracting Patrick for a moment, and looks around the store, like he might find someone else with which to have this conversation. Patrick is on the verge of being offended—he’s a good listener!—when David throws his hands up as if they’ve just been arguing. 

“I have to go to this party.”

Patrick blinks. “Oh… kay. Why, exactly?” David clearly does not want to go. 

“Because, he thinks I’m still single, and he’s the worst and just—I have to go.” 

Does this mean David _isn’t_ single? Patrick doesn’t understand why any of that means David should go to this party, but David is very adamant, and the look he’s giving Patrick is very intense. “Even though you don’t want to go,” he clarifies. 

“Of course I don’t _want_ to go.”

“But you have to go.”

“Yes.”

Patrick just nods, because he’s not sure what else to say. He wants to talk David out of this ridiculous plan. Who cares what _Dex_ thinks? Except David clearly does, so Patrick is going to try to be supportive. That’s what a good business partner would do. 

“Maybe I could bring Stevie.”

Patrick’s heart picks up speed and he tries to subtly grip the edge of the counter to steady himself. “Oh—so you—you’ll need a date.”

“Obviously I’ll need a date.” David leans one hand on the counter and taps his fingers on the surface.

The silence that follows is heavy—David is looking everywhere but at Patrick, and Patrick hears the words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I could go with you.”

He stops breathing. Did he say that out loud? Did David _hear_ him?

“Patrick,” David whispers, and that doesn’t help Patrick’s respiratory system at all. “You’d do that? That’s—way beyond your responsibilities as a business partner.” David stands up straight and tugs at his sweater again. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No I’d—I’d like to.” Patrick shrugs. “I’m happy to.”

David looks around the store again. “Well, okay.”

“Okay.” Patrick nods decisively. “I better close out.”

“I will—go over here so you can do that.” David gestures across the store, and as he moves away, Patrick thinks he sees a tiny, sideways smile slip across David’s mouth. 

*

David agrees to let Patrick pick him up, but as Patrick’s driving over to the motel, he realizes his mistake. On the short drive, he’s managed to conjure up _several_ fantasies in which this is a real date and Patrick is on his way to sweep David off his feet. 

That is all well and good, except Patrick is _not_ going on an actual date with David Rose. Patrick is wearing Levi’s—he’s _not_ the kind of person who would impress David Rose. 

Patrick shoves all that out of his mind as he flicks on his turn signal to pull into the parking lot at the motel. David is outside—it’s dark, but Patrick can see his shadowed silhouette beneath the light outside his room. He’s huddled into himself, facing away from the light wind that’s blowing, arms crossed over his open coat.

It’s cold out, so Patrick is surprised David isn’t waiting inside. He parks in front of Room 7 and David hurries over, folding himself into the front seat of Patrick’s midsize sedan. He immediately flips down the visor and squints at his reflection, patting carefully at the sides of his swept-up hair. He pinches a lock of hair and tucks it back into a slightly different position, but Patrick thought he already looked perfect. He flips the visor shut and turns to Patrick. 

“Hi,” he says in a rush. “It’s so fucking windy out.” He reaches back to grab his seatbelt and clicks it into place. 

“David, I would have knocked on the door—” David gives him a scandalized look. “Texted you. I would have texted you when I parked.” 

David doesn’t respond, so Patrick shifts into reverse, putting his arm around the back of David’s seat to turn and look out the rear window. 

David clears his throat. “Thank you for doing this, Patrick. It’s—thanks.” 

“It’s not like it’s a hardship, David. You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“Mm, I think you’ll change your mind once we get there. I didn’t meet that many of Dex’s friends during our very brief time together, but I’m sure they’re all terrible people.”

Patrick hums in acknowledgment. “Okay, fair enough.”

David sighs quietly and turns to look out the window. 

“But I’ll be there with you,” Patrick says, feeling a little brave in the dark as he drives across town. “So it can’t be _that_ bad.” He sees David turn his head in his periphery, and he thinks he sees a smile flicker across his face. He doesn’t respond, though, so Patrick reaches forward to turn on the radio. 

*

Dex’s apartment is really nice for Schitt’s Creek—an open living area big enough to easily fit the fifty-odd people currently milling about. There’s a well-stocked bar cart off to the side where a guy dressed like a waiter is mixing drinks. 

It’s all a lot more sophisticated than Patrick expected, and he feels even more out of place, unprepared, underdressed, than he did when he was picking out his blue button-up and nice jeans. 

“ _God_ , he’s so pretentious,” David mutters under his breath as he takes his coat off. 

“Would we call him pretentious or… timeless?” Patrick teases, removing his own coat and taking David’s over to the garment rack against the wall. By the time Patrick is done hanging their coats, he sees that David already has a tiny plate with a few snacks on it. How long was Patrick gone?

As he makes his way through the crowd back to David, he takes in the outfit David selected. He’s wearing a sweater—more fitted than usual—a light gray color with shiny thread woven through it. Very festive, but very subtle.

When he’s close enough, he grabs a puff pastry cup filled with something cheesy looking off David’s plate and pops it in his mouth. “Holy shit, that’s good,” he said, holding his hand in front of his face while he chews. 

David rolls his eyes and takes a bite of a crostini. “I know it’s so annoying.”

“Hey, good food’s not a bad reason to come to a party,” Patrick says, touching David’s elbow. David glances down to where they’re touching, and Patrick pulls his hand away, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Let me get you a drink,” he offers, hoping for a chance to calm down.

David shakes his head. “I’ll come. Just my luck Dex will appear next to me while I’m standing alone with a plate of food.”

Patrick has no idea why David is giving this guy so much power, because he’s obviously a huge tool, but he wants to make sure David has as much of a good time as possible at an event he wants nothing to do with. So Patrick presses his hand to David’s lower back, thrilling a little when David doesn’t stop him, and ushers David through the crowd. 

The bartender is nice enough, but he flirts pretty shamelessly with David which Patrick does not care for _at all_. Sure, he and David aren’t dating, but the bartender— _Trent_ —doesn’t know that! Patrick glares at the guy during the entire exchange, but all he gets for his effort is a smirk from David as he hands Patrick his beer. 

They manage to find two empty chairs against the back wall of the apartment, and David makes a beeline over to claim them. Patrick is only two sips into his beer, trying not to focus on the line of warmth that is David’s thigh pressed against his, when Dex finds them. 

Patrick feels David groan into his wine glass as Dex approaches. “Go fall off a cliff,” David mutters, and Patrick watches him plaster a mean smile onto his face when Dex greets them. 

“You made it—I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You never cared much about that when we were involved,” David mumbles, before saying louder, “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

Patrick almost chokes on his own spit. 

“Oh, Peter, I didn't realize you and David were seeing each other.”

Patrick squares his shoulders. “It’s Patrick. You’re Derek, right?” Two can play that game.

Dex narrows his eyes briefly and holds his hand out for Patrick to shake. “Dex.”

Patrick grips his hand as tight as he can. He feels the bones of Dex’s pinky finger against his hand, imagines squeezing tight enough to snap something. 

Dex gives him a smirk, like he knows what Patrick is thinking and— 

“We’re going to get some food,” David interrupts their staredown, thank god, tugging at Patrick’s elbow. He goes somewhat reluctantly—he’s ready, all of a sudden, to throw a punch or something. Who _is_ he?

“Try the ceviche,” Dex says as David pulls Patrick across the room. 

“We won’t,” David answers. 

There’s a swell of arrivals while Patrick holds a tiny plate and lets David pile on as many appetizers as he can. He downs his beer so he can get rid of his empty bottle, and David finishes his own cocktail only to grab two glasses of champagne from a passing server. 

The crowd shifts, and Patrick maneuvers himself back against a wall. David moves with him, nearly pressed all along Patrick’s front, and Patrick takes an uncomfortable gulp of the bubbly drink to calm himself down. He holds the plate up and nods at it, and David gives him a small smile and grabs the tiniest quiche Patrick has ever seen. He puts the whole thing in his mouth, and Patrick stares as David’s eyes all but roll back into his head as he flutters them closed. 

“Oh my god,” David moans. “This is amazing. God, it’s just like him to have amazing food at a terrible party to keep me here as long as possible.”

 _I could make you amazing food_ , Patrick wants to say, even though it’s probably not true. David picks up another appetizer and this time he bites it in half. He moans again—he needs to stop doing that.

“David, we can leave whenever—”

“You have to try this,” David says urgently, pressing the rest of the bite against Patrick’s mouth. Startled, Patrick tries to carefully take the food from David’s fingers, but he still brushes his lips against the pads of David’s fingertips. 

It’s a mac and cheese bite, which does taste amazing, but all Patrick can think about is the fact that his lips are tingling from David’s touch. 

“Isn’t it amazing? God, what an asshole,” David says, sipping his drink. He seems wholly unaffected by the exchange—is David not thinking about how his fingers touched Patrick’s lips? Patrick tries to refocus on the conversation. 

“Could be worse though,” he says, leaning in so David can hear him over the din of the party, “we could be stuck here with _bad_ food.” He grins and finishes his champagne. 

David takes his glass and reaches a long arm out to drop it on a side table. As he’s straightening back up, someone bumps into him, knocking him off balance. Patrick puts one hand on David’s waist to steady him at the same time as David grabs Patrick’s shoulder for the same reason. 

Patrick has David in his arms now, save for the hand that’s holding their plate of food, and he slips the hand he has on David’s waist around to the small of his back. To steady him. Obviously. 

The guy who’d jostled them has long since apologized and left the area, but David and Patrick are still standing close. Patrick feels David squeeze his shoulder, feels the warmth of his hand through the fabric of his button-up, bites his lip when he feels the pressure of David’s thumb against his collarbone. 

He sees—and feels—David take a shuddery breath. His shoulders rise and fall, his breath ghosts across Patrick’s cheek, his sweater brushes against the front of Patrick’s shirt. “You looked like you were going to punch Dex earlier,” David says for some reason, instead of just leaning in to _kiss Patrick_. 

Patrick feels like he telegraphed all the right signs—the ones that scream _KISS ME_ —so he doesn’t understand why they are about to have _another_ conversation about this guy. 

He shrugs but doesn’t pull away. “I don’t like him. He’s a huge tool and he’s mean and he says bad things about you,” he says fiercely. He wants David to know that Patrick’s on his side. Sometimes it seems like not too many people are. 

David gives him a small, genuine smile—Patrick even sees a hint of teeth as David’s dimples pop. God, there’s not much Patrick wouldn’t do to get David to smile at him like _that_ every day. “You’re—” David starts, but he stops for a moment, inhaling deeply. Patrick _holds_ his breath. “You’re very sweet,” he finishes, and Patrick all but deflates. 

He was expecting something a little more… _romantic_ than that. 

They’re still standing close together—if things get weird, Patrick can blame it on the noise level in the apartment—and Patrick is still holding their plate of food. He rests his head against the wall behind him, putting a few centimeters between them, and sighs quietly. “You deserve a lot better than that guy, David Rose,” Patrick says. 

If he was braver, he’d lean in and kiss David himself. Every time he thinks he’s gathered the courage, he sees something else that reminds him that David’s way out of his league. It’s probably time to give up, he _thought_ there was finally going to be kissing, but he should just accept that David doesn’t—and won’t—think of him like that.

Distracted by his own vulnerable words, he doesn’t notice David closing that small distance between them again. He doesn’t notice David’s hand, the one burning through his shirt, slipping around the back of Patrick’s neck. He doesn’t notice until David’s fingers gently brushing through the short hairs at the back of his neck make him shiver. Maybe… 

“Patrick,” David murmurs. Patrick nods slightly, tries to make his face look as kissable as possible. He presses his fingers into David’s sweater, where his hand rests against David’s back, the material soft under his fingertips. 

David’s mouth tilts up on one side, and then he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Patrick’s. His lips are soft, everything about the kiss is so gentle, and Patrick leans more heavily back against the wall. David moves with him, insistent, and Patrick gasps when David scratches his fingers lightly against the nape of his neck.

“My sweater,” David says against his lips, and for a moment, Patrick thinks David is suggesting that Patrick _remove_ David’s sweater. Which—

“What?” He answers, his voice rough. He clears his throat. 

David strokes a thumb over Patrick’s cheek, and Patrick forgets what they were talking about in the first place. David continues, though. “You’re wrinkling my sweater,” he says, lips brushing Patrick’s. 

Patrick can’t think straight with David so close—can only focus on the way David’s stubble feels against his kiss-swollen lips as he drags his mouth along David’s jaw, the way David’s hand feels on the back of his head, like a weight grounding him, anchoring him. He takes a shaky breath as David’s words sink in. 

“What?” He asks again, pulling away to look down at David’s sweater. He drags his gaze back up to David’s and blinks slowly. David’s lips look as wrecked as Patrick’s feel, but he’s smirking, one eyebrow raised. Patrick fumbles the plate he’s somehow still holding onto the nearest flat surface. He doesn’t take his eyes off David’s face.

David puts his hand on Patrick’s biceps, dragging over his elbow and following Patrick’s arm around David’s waist. As David is brushing his fingertips over Patrick’s wrist, he realizes he’s clenching his fist around a handful of fabric from David’s sweater. He let’s go immediately, gasping softly.

He’s embarrassed, and the roaring noise from the rest of the apartment finally breaks into his focus again. No one is paying attention to them, thank god, and Patrick rests his hand on David’s chest—not pushing him away, just feeling him, solid and sturdy in front of Patrick. 

“Sorry,” Patrick mumbles. 

David shakes his head once and settles his hand on Patrick’s hip. Patrick watches him lick his lips—red and puffy from Patrick’s kisses. The sight makes Patrick sway forward slightly, but a group of people leaving knocks into them both, and they stumble to the side. Patrick grabs David’s shoulders and David grabs Patrick’s waist.

Patrick feels something brush against his hair and looks up to see mistletoe hanging from a strand of garland haphazardly taped across the wall. David follows his gaze, and Patrick grins as his face transforms into a look of disgust. “ _Ugh_ , mistletoe.”

“What do you have against mistletoe?” Patrick asks, grinning wider as David directs his _look_ right at Patrick. 

“Obviously the forced PDA amongst strangers,” David says, moving his head dramatically, making his ultra-styled curls bob slightly. 

Patrick nods. “Makes sense. Sounds terrible.”

David slouches forward—closer to Patrick and not exactly under the mistletoe. “I don’t want you to kiss me because of mistletoe,” he says quietly, eyes widening slightly in a rare moment of vulnerability. 

Patrick’s breath catches. He feels like this moment is too big for the tiny space they’re taking up, but it’s here and Patrick isn’t going to let it pass by. He slips his hands up David’s chest, cupping David’s face. He brushes his thumbs over David’s cheekbones, swallows hard against a wave of nervousness. 

“David,” he says, because it feels good. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.”

David bites his lip and looks away for a moment. “You don’t have to say that, Patrick.”

Patrick shakes his head—how has David not seen it? He pulls David in for another kiss, trying to put in all the things he hasn’t said the last few weeks, licking over David’s lips. David gasps and Patrick groans softly, deepening the kiss as David shuffles closer, pressing Patrick into the wall at his back. He feels too warm, and a wave of insecurity hits him hard when David slides his hand under the hem, fingertips slipping across his lower back. 

“David,” Patrick gasps, pulling away. “Let’s—we should go.”

David ducks his head, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I—”

“No!” Patrick says, too loud for how close they’re standing. “I just meant—I _mean_ —you didn’t even want to come, and we’ve eaten plenty of this guy’s tiny food. Let’s go. I’ll take you for dessert. Have you ever been to the Cafe Tropical? I’ve heard people _raving_ about how moderately edible the food is there.” He grins, and David smirks back, sending a flutter of excited butterflies through Patrick. 

“Mmhmm, yes.” David laughs softly.

“We could go for a late-night snack. The cheesecake is… palatable. I’ve heard.” Patrick nods.

David’s smiling full-on, making Patrick’s heart squeeze in his chest. “Okay.” His voice is quiet, intimate, and Patrick wants to kiss him again. 

There’s a roar of laughter and shouting from across the room and they both turn towards the ruckus. “I’ll get our coats,” Patrick says quickly, pressing his lips to David’s cheek before moving away to the coat rack. 

*

The cheesecake is _not_ palatable, but David eats most of it anyway, and Patrick sits there with his chin in his hand staring at him. 

“What?” David asks, wiping at his face. “Did I get cheesecake everywhere?”

Patrick shakes his head. “No, just—I’m just really glad we went to the party.”

David raises an eyebrow. “This is an interesting change of heart.”

The comment makes Patrick smile, because his heart hasn’t changed at all. “Don’t make me say it,” he says, ducking his head. 

David takes the last bite, wrapping his lips around the fork and sliding it out clean. Patrick flushes and grabs his water as a distraction. “Say what?” David asks, smirking. 

“I’m just glad—”

“—we made out.”

Patrick chokes on his water. “No—well, _yes_ , but it’s—more than that.” Oh god, does David think Patrick just wants a one-night stand? 

His face must be showing something because David slowly reaches across the table and covers Patrick’s hand with his own. “I’m—” David clears his throat. “I hope so.”

Patrick smiles—he can’t help it and he doesn’t want to. He wants to lean over the table and kiss David. He wants to plan the rest—

He shakes his head—he’s getting ahead of himself. He settles for squeezing David’s hand.

“Speaking of more,” David says as he sits back, extending his arm so he can still hold Patrick’s hand. Patrick’s heart speeds up—what is David going to suggest? “Our next date better include a full meal, preferably pizza, and definitely not from this kitchen.”

Patrick blinks and then bursts out laughing. David’s smile deepens, putting his dimples on display. 

“Deal.”


End file.
